


The One-Thousand and Ninety-Fifth Morning

by LadyLilyMalfoy



Series: Postal Fics [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance, ficclet, postal-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLilyMalfoy/pseuds/LadyLilyMalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Postal Fc #1 - Prompt: Fluff & Special Occassion. For Krisjo.<br/>Greg wakes up on the morning of his third anniversary with Mycroft to a very nice surprise.<br/>Unadulterated Fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One-Thousand and Ninety-Fifth Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [krisjo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/krisjo/gifts).



> I'm doing once-a-month giveaways on my tumblr for postal fics. This is the first. If you're interested, drop by at ladylilymalfoy.tumblr.com :)  
> Edit: Lengthened for the fuckyeahmystradefanfiction challenge.

If Greg was to be perfectly honest with himself, he had expected this year’s anniversary to go exactly the same way as last year’s – he would wake up, cold and alone, slope into the kitchen to find a pot of lukewarm coffee and an apologetic note on the counter. The day would proceed in the same way as any other, although with an added note of distinct disappointment which he could never _quite_ shake, no matter how much he could rationalize Mycroft’s behavior in his head. And he _knew_ it wasn’t Mycroft’s fault, that his partner would much rather stay in bed, drink champagne and eating toast all day rather than being bored to tears by the Foreign Dignitary of wherever and not getting home until stupid o’clock when they would both be too tired to do anything other than collapse onto the bed and cuddle. Not that Greg minded collapsing and cuddling, but he definitely preferred it as an aperitif rather than a main.

This year, however, on what was the third anniversary of their relationship – ‘Only three years,’ Greg marveled, whilst Mycroft was still getting over the shock of staying with somebody for _two_ years – Mycroft’s alarm clock did _not_ go off at the ungodly hour of four AM, nor did Greg wake up cold and alone. In fact, when he did finally did rouse from his dreams it was to find his partner still snoring lightly in his arms, the crown of his head nestled securely beneath Greg’s chin.

Turning his head just a fraction so as to not disturb the sleeping man pressed against his side, Greg took note of the pale sunlight poking through the crack in the drapes and, considering that there was no sign of the usual dawn chorus that likes to congregate outside their bedroom window between the hours of six and nine, calculated that it was most definitely way past the point where they _ought_ to have got up.

Turning back to press his lips to Mycroft’s forehead – creased with dreams – in a sort of half-kiss, Greg fleetingly considered waking him…But the thought had barely time to form before it was discarded out of hand; there was not a single part of Mycroft’s life which had not been carefully calculated, and Greg highly doubted that this was the first. He smiled to himself, softly running the pads of his fingers from the small of Mycroft’s back to the nape of his neck, silently thanking him for his anniversary present.

Mycroft stirred slightly beneath his touch, and Greg could feel the beginnings of consciousness twitch through the other man’s body like the faintest spark of electricity before the light comes on. The hand continued its journey upwards, combing through Mycroft’s hair and settling just above his ear, thumb gently stroking the lobe as he eyelids flickered half-open.

Greg returned the sleepy smile he was given with a kiss and a murmured, “Morning, love.”

Mycroft replied with a wide yawn, his whole body shivering with tension as he stretched out kinks and knots which always came from a long sleep. “Morning,” he said on the exhale, snuggling back down against Greg. “ ‘Time is it?”

Greg glanced over at where is phone was lying on their bedside table and decided it was definitely beyond his reach. “No idea. Late.”

Mycroft’s lips brushed against the hollow of Greg’s throat as they stretched into another yawn. “Good.”

Greg gave a low, throaty chuckle which reverberated through both of them. “No national emergencies that need to be avoided, then? No warlords that need your immediate attention?”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed with a cup of tea and a Father Ted box-set,” Mycroft replied, turning his face upwards for a kiss, which Greg was only too happy to grant him. “There are far more important matters that need my attention today.”

“Mmm that sounds nice,” Greg mumbled into Mycroft’s hair.

“Who says I was talking about you?” This earned Mycroft a vicious tickle in the ribs, the legs wrapped around his waist holding him fast until he begged for mercy.

“Yield!” Greg demanded.

Mycroft yielded, panting and grinning, eyes bright with energy. His eyes searched Greg’s face as though for the first time, then – breathless and earnestly – “I love you.”

Smoothing the hair away from Mycroft’s face, Greg leaned in to place a tender kiss his partner’s lips. “I love you too. Happy anniversary.”

The edges of Mycroft’s eyes crinkled in pleasure and the corners of his mouth stretched into a grin, despite Greg’s best efforts to keep it occupied with his own. “It surprises me every year,” he admitted as his partner failed to distract him.

“I’d bet you anything you’re not half as surprised as I was to find you still here.” Greg pushed himself up, straddling Mycroft’s hips and looking down upon him, head cocked to the side as he surveyed his partner affectionately. “I believe this is the first anniversary where we’ve woken up together.”

Running his hands unhurriedly up Greg’s broad legs, Mycroft cocked his head coyly to one side. “I did well then? I couldn’t decide what to get you so-”

“So I get you?”

Mycroft’s laughter reverberated through them both as his chest heaved with the difficulty of having Greg’s weight pressing down on him. “Yes,” his fingers curled and lightly scratched a trail of goose bumps down the soft skin of Greg’s outer-leg. “You get me.”

The sensation – soft and sharp and delicious – elicited a long sigh from the detective inspector’s lips. He leaned back, head tilted towards the high, sunlit ceiling, and arched his spine – hands moving backwards to grip Mycroft’s legs as he stretched out his muscles. He smiled, knowing that Mycroft’s eyes were fixed upon him – both savouring the present moment and anticipating what was about to come. And they were in no hurry. They had all of this day, and all of the next year, and all of the rest of their lives… Greg gave a shiver, his heart leaping rather violently as something suddenly became clear. He looked down at Mycroft looking up – the younger man’s body taught and his bottom lip between his teeth as he waited, with wavering patience, for his own present.

Mycroft flinched, then laughed in relief as Greg let himself fall forwards – saved suddenly from being head butted by hands smacking down either side of his head. Wrapping his legs once more around Greg’s waist and his arms around his torso, Mycroft pulled him down and closed the last few inches between them, holding them both together in a single unit.

Greg shifted slightly, almost cross-eyed as he watched for Mycroft’s reaction.

He was not disappointed.

Mycroft’s breath hitched then escaped in a short, concentrated gasp – every muscle tightening abruptly, then gradually softening as, finally, his patience was rewarded and his anniversary present was reciprocated.

They each made a silent, identical wish for the new-year and sealed it in the most appropriate, tangible way there was, and finishing - and beginning - with a kiss. 


End file.
